


here comes a regular

by questionableatbest



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionableatbest/pseuds/questionableatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Enjolras wandered into the bar across the street from his new apartment, he did so with absolutely no intention of consuming alcohol. Of course, all of those intentions disappeared when he got a look at the man behind the bar; pale skin, a mess of dark hair, thin but not frail and, currently, sipping straight from a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras had never been big on drinking, but he`d also never been particularly good at cooking.

That`s why, the first time he wandered into the bar across the street from his new apartment, he did so with absolutely no intention of consuming alcohol. Of course, all of those intentions disappeared when he got a look at the man behind the bar; pale skin, a mess of dark hair, thin but not frail, and, currently, sipping straight from a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey.

After a moment the man caught him staring, though it took another moment for him to lower the bottle. When he did, a crooked grin began to tug at one corner of his mouth and Enjolras cleared his throat, suddenly feeling out of place.

He briefly considered turning around and running back to his apartment, but banished that thought the second it entered his mind. Instead, he squared his shoulders and headed straight for the empty bar.

It was only when he took a seat on one of the stools that he realized how awkward the situation truly was but, like he normally does, he decided to plow through it, raising his eyebrows at the man, who was still unabashedly staring at him.

"You guys have food, yeah?"

The man leans against the bar and matches Enjolras' serious tone. "Well, that depends; did you have anything in mind?" he asked, his voice raspy but, other than that, surprisingly clear.

Enjolras' eyes trailed to his lips briefly, surprising himself when that happens and, as a result, blurting out the first thing that came to mind: "Nachos?"

The man's grin turned into a smirk, before he abruptly pushed himself back up into a standing position. "Sure thing, Apollo," he said, before spinning around and yelling, "Feuilly; nachos." He then turned back to Enjolras with a mock-bow. "Coming right up."

It took Enjolras a moment to process the whole exchange and, when he did, he was left with one question: "What did you call me?"

"Nothing, love," the bartender replied easily, with a wink that made Enjolras' cheeks heat up immediately. He was still sputtering on that, when the man continued speaking, having picked up the bottle of whiskey while Enjolras was distracted. "Drink while you're waiting?"

Enjolras' senses started coming back to him then, and he narrowed his eyes. "That seems unsanitary."

"Well then, it'll be on the house," he said, in the process of reaching for a glass under the bar, when an unimpressed looking man barged out of the kitchen with a knife in hand that he waved quite liberally.

"NO. You are NOT allowed to offer free drinks to every blonde who wanders through those doors. You're drinking us out of business, as it is."

Enjolras knew that he should probably be offended by that, but Grantaire ignored the comment entirely and it was clear that neither man was actually paying attention to him.

"But Feuilly," the bartender started, with a mischievous smile in his voice that Enjolras could clearly picture, "How am I supposed to flirt with beautiful boys, if I can't even offer them free alcohol?"

Enjolras coughed at that, sitting up straight when he realized that the bar tender was, in fact, referring to him. His eyes were comically wide and he was sure that his mouth was gaping, but Feuilly didn't pay any mind to that, focusing his murderous gaze on the bartender. "Not. My. Problem." He then spun on his heel, heading back for the kitchen without a second glance.

Enjolras was still gaping when the bartender turned back to face him, and began pouring a glass of whiskey. "Ignore him," he said with a flourish of his arm, "He's harmless."

If only because he didn't know what to say and his hands suddenly felt too empty, Enjolras accepted the glass that the bartender put in front of him and, without thinking, brought it to his lips. It only took one small sip to remind him that he never drank anything that strong and, as a result, sputtered and ended up coughing rather violently. It took a moment to compose himself, and he could feel his face burning just as harshly as his throat was.

And of course, when he finally looked up, the bartender was staring him down with blatant amusement written all over his face. "You okay, Apollo?"

"I- don't call me that."

"Well then, what should I be calling you, love?"

Enjolras glowered at the pet name, but figured that giving the man a straight answer might get him to stop. "Enjolras."

"Hm," the bartender said, his eyes tracing over Enjolras' face as if he was trying to understand it, and then: "That suits you, Apollo." Enjolras felt his jaw clench at his failed plan, but the man spoke again before he could protest. "I'm Grantaire. R, to friends, but I don't think we're there yet."

"Yet?" Enjolras asked incredulously, trying to figure out why they were having this conversation to begin with.

"Yet," the bartender- Grantaire, apparently- confirmed, nodding his head sagely, before all mock-serious pretenses fell away, and he tapped on the almost-full glass that had been abandoned in front of Enjolras. "Drink up and we might get there sooner, rather than later."

This time, Enjolras didn't take the bait; he just rolled his eyes. "It's noon on a Wednesday."

And then Grantaire rolled his eyes, though he didn't look entirely surprised or put-off by the answer. "It's five o'clock somewhere," he said, before his eyes flickered back towards the kitchen and he lowered his voice into a stage whisper. "And between you and me, the only way anybody is able to enjoy Feuilly's cooking, is with impaired judgement."

Enjolras snorted in disbelief at the recommendation, but Feuilly once again replied before he had a chance to, this time yelling from the kitchen, "I WILL FIRE YOUR SORRY ASS. I WILL," which didn't seem to concern Grantaire at all.

"He always says that," he said, with a nostalgic look that prompted another snort from Enjolras.

"I can't imagine why."

Grantaire's eyes widened for a moment, before he let out a hearty laugh which, for some reason, made Enjolras feel something akin to pride. When he stopped laughing, Grantaire shook head. "That was mean, Apollo."

Enjolras hid his grin before it could spread, and instead went for a look that he was sure missed innocence by a few marks. "I don't know what you're taking about."

Something in Grantaire's eyes seemed to darken for a moment there, but then he shook his head and it was gone. "Sure you don't, Apollo, sure you don't," he says, punctuating the sentence by reaching out and grabbing the glass in front of Enjolras, and downing it in one go.

For the life of him, Enjolras doesn't know why he continues the conversation, but he does before he can stop himself. "Aren't you not supposed to drink on the job? Or drink your own alcohol? Isn't that a rule, or something?"

Grantaire's trademark smirk was back and, though Enjolras wasn't sure he'd ever grow used to it, he didn't blush that time. "Are you, by chance, thinking about drugs? Don't smoke what you sell? Because, personally, I've always found that frame of mind to be overrated." It takes a moment for Enjolras to process the meaning behind that, but Grantaire's moved on by then. "Though your concern for my job is touching; I didn't know you cared, Apollo."

Enjolras was saved from answering that by Feuilly coming out of the kitchen, this time with a plate of questionable nachos in hand, and Enjolras couldn't help but silently thank the man for his perfect timing. Unfortunately, Grantaire's less-than-kind assessment of the food had been correct; it seemed like chips, cheese, and an assortment of vegetables and meat would be hard to mess up, but Feuilly had managed just that.

Still, Enjolras was adamantly against wasting food, so he ate every piece of it, doing his best to tune out Grantaire's commentary all the while.

Half of the things that the man said were amusing, the other half thoroughly infuriating, and yet Grantaire couldn't find it in him to actively dislike him. He was, however, becoming steadily more irritated by the use of his newfound nickname and so, after he'd paid his bill and collected his things, he was surprised when Grantaire simply said, "I'll see you around, Enjolras," and even more surprised by the way that his name danced off the other man's tongue.

He knew it was a strange thing to notice, and he would likely never admit just how much he liked the sound, and he stumbled through his own good bye, before he turned on his heel and left the building, heading straight for his apartment with unwanted thoughts of the dark haired bar tender running through his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Careful Apollo, you don't want to hurt my feelings. I worked very hard on that drink. Though it doesn't have any alcohol in it, so I can't imagine why…" Enjolras glares but doesn't say anything.. After a moment Grantaire shrugs triumphantly and reaches out to tap the discarded textbook. "Now tell me, did you really come to a bar to study?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is stupidly cheesy i feel like i need to apologize in advance please don't hate me

The next time Enjolras goes to Grantaire's bar it's a Sunday morning, and his heart definitely does not skip a beat when he sees the man lounging in a chair with his feet up and a sketchbook in his lap. He looks serene and nowhere near as tired as he should be at this hour, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal arms covered in scattered tattoo's that Enjolras hadn't noticed before.

When Grantaire looks up he seems surprised at first, his eyes widening and his lips parting slightly, but that falls away in a matter of seconds and a look of awe seems to cross his face. Enjolras doesn't know what to make of that so he ignores it, and a moment later it's gone as well. The smirk that it's replaced with is strangely familiar and, against his better judgement, Enjolras lets it beckon him to the bar stool he'd sat in last time.

Grantaire sits up straighter and flips the sketchbook closed, his eyes never leaving Enjolras. "Apollo," he says indulgently, the smile on his face reflected in his voice.

Enjolras scowls. "That's not my name."

"Ah, so you remember your line." Grantaire smiles as if he's in on a joke that Enjolras will never understand, before he reaches for a pint of beer behind him and Enjolras' eyebrows furrow even more.

"Isn't it a bit early for that?"

Grantaire chuckles. "It's-"

"Five o'clock somewhere?" Enjolras finishes, remembering their previous conversation. As usual, he realizes a moment too late that the comment combined with his wary voice is a tad too judgemental, but by that point Grantaire's eyes have hardened and softened again, any trace of hurt now morphed into a bitter sense of humor.

"Actually, love, I was going to say that today is the lord's day, and that this is the best way I can think to honor dear old Jesus Christ. Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions, eh?"

Enjolras honestly doesn't know what to say to that, but he does know that he hates being rendered speechless and that Grantaire is far too good at doing just that. Rather than dealing with that, he decides to change the subject and asks for a coffee. While Grantaire is retrieving it, Enjolras reaches into his bag and pulls out the textbook that he desperately needs to be reading. He's gone over the first sentence of the chapter about five times, with none of it making any comprehensible sense, when a cup of murky brown liquid is set in front of him, followed by milk and sugar.

He reaches for it without looking up, hoping that Grantaire will find something more interesting to fixate on if he doesn't say anything, but that plan all but falls apart when Enjolras takes a sip of the coffee, and has to try very hard not to spit it back out. When he finishes sputtering he looks back up to see a smirking Grantaire, and feels a flash of déjà vu.

"That's-" he begins to condemn the drink, before Grantaire interrupts him with a knowing smile.

"Careful Apollo, you don't want to hurt my feelings. I worked very hard on that drink. Though it doesn't have any alcohol in it, so I can't imagine why…" Enjolras glares but doesn't say anything, and after a moment Grantaire shrugs triumphantly and reaches out to tap the discarded textbook. "Now tell me, did you really come to a bar to study?"

"I-" Enjolras starts, before his mind latches onto the first excuse that pops into it, "I was also hoping to get breakfast as well." Grantaire laughs gratuitously, and Enjolras feels his face turning bright red. "What?"

"You may be the first person in the history of this establishment to willingly subject yourself to Feuilly's cooking for a second time."

"It's not… terrible?"

"Yes, it is," Grantaire says firmly, with a hint of tragedy in his voice, before he pulls a menu out from under the counter and slides it over to Enjolras. "Lucky for you, Feuilly hasn't made it in yet, so I'm in charge of the kitchen."

Enjolras looks pointedly at the offending cup of coffee, before he meets Grantaire's eye again. "Lucky?"

Grantaire grasps his chest dramatically and pouts. "You wound me, Apollo." Enjolras hides his smile behind the menu, and studies it for a moment before he decides on pancakes. When he orders them, Grantaire bows. "Your wish is my command," he says, before grabbing his beer and walking backwards into the kitchen, bumping into the door frame as he goes.

Enjolras does smile at that, and he swears that he sees Grantaire blush just a little bit, before he disappears into the kitchen.

Left alone, Enjolras turns to his political science textbook, letting out a sigh before he, once again, tries to focus all of his attention on the absolutely dull material. His concentration pays off eventually, and he finds the material making at least a little bit more sense. When that happens, he pulls out a notebook and starts writing things down, knowing that it's the only way any of it will actually stick.

By the time Grantaire emerges from the kitchen, a huge pile of pancakes in one hand and an empty pint in the other, Enjolras has already filled a page. Grantaire takes one look at it and snorts, interrupting the zone that Enjolras had barely even had a chance to enter. He fumes, but that lessens slightly when he actually smells the pancakes.

They look like heaven and they smell even better and Enjolras hadn't realized how hungry he was until this very moment and, before he can stop himself, he lets out a noise that is embarrassingly close to a moan, and Grantaire definitely notices.

The bartenders' eyes darken, before he lets out a strangled laugh. "If I'd known you were that desperate, I would have gone a lot faster, darling," he recovers with a wink that does nothing to lessen the red staining Enjolras' cheeks, and then reaches under the bar. "Syrup?"

"Y-es," Enjolras says, hating how he stutters on the word. Thankfully Grantaire doesn't comment on it, though he does smirk in a way that is far too knowing, and passes Enjolras the syrup without a word. Enjolras pours it on liberally and then digs into the pancakes, looking for anything in the world to distract him from Grantaire's surprisingly steady gaze and, as a result, his eyes land back on his textbook.

A few moments later, Grantaire nods towards the notes that Enjolras had taken with a new look on his face. "You really are just here to study, aren't you?" he asks, sounding more subdued than usual. It's not the entire truth, but Enjolras doesn't know what to say so he stays silent for a moment to long, and Grantaire ends up nodding his head. "I'll leave you be then," he says, before he grabs his empty glass and walks away.

He's back soon, now with a full glass of beer, and sits in the chair he'd been in when Enjolras arrived. A few moments of silence pass and, while it isn't much, Enjolras hates it, so he blurts out a part of the truth that he doesn't mind sharing: "I was sexiled."

"What?"

"My roommates have just started a… relationship, and they're not exactly… discreet."

A hint of amusement is back on Grantaire's face, but he bites down a smile and simply raises his eyebrows in his normal, infuriating way. "That is the most juvenile thing I've ever heard."

Enjolras' eyes narrow at that, if only because he's become used to Grantaire's taunting and now it's second nature for him to respond defensively. "You wouldn't say that if you could hear them."

"Oh?"

"I would die for Courfeyrac, but I did not need to know that he has a daddy kink."

Grantaire laughs, throwing his head back in an action that shakes his whole body. When he finally calms down, there's a certain light in his eye that makes Enjolras happier than he would like to admit. "You know Apollo, I thought you'd be all for the freedom to do what you want, consensually of course, no matter how kinky."

Enjolras has to try very hard not to fixate on the word 'kink' coming out of Grantaire's mouth. "I am," he says, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, "But that doesn't mean that I want to know about all of it. Especially when it's between my two best friends."

Grantaire smirks for a moment too long but, much to Enjolras' relief, allows that part of the conversation to end, and Enjolras shoves a large chunk of pancake into his mouth to stop himself from starting another mortifying conversation. When he looks back up, Grantaire has the sketchbook back in his lap and a pencil in hand and he's still staring at Enjolras, though this time it's in a calculating way that immediately tips him off.

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" Grantaire asks, in a voice that's far too innocent to sound believable, fluttering his eyelashes for affect.

It's almost comical, but Enjolras is too affronted to laugh. "Don't draw me."

"Careful Apollo, you're sounding a bit conceited now." Enjolras hadn't considered that, always a bit too quick to speak his mind, but he stands by his accusation and a moment later Grantaire smiles sheepishly. "Your modelling can be payment for the pancakes."

"That-"

"Is a great deal?"

"Is ridiculous."

Grantaire rolls his eyes. "Oh come on, love. All you have to do is sit there and read; I'm the one with the hard job."

"And what would that be?"

"Capturing your beauty on paper, of course." Grantaire winks and Enjolras groans at the cheesiness of the line, but he decides to leave it be, ignoring the smug look on Grantaire's face and turning his attention back to his text book.

It's surprisingly easy to forget that Grantaire is there drawing him and taking the occasional sip of beer, and Enjolras falls into his work, at peace, sooner than he would have thought possible. At one point Feuilly wanders in with a huge, dark skinned man on his tail, and they stay to chat for a bit before disappearing into the back, and Enjolras and Grantaire's comfortable silence resumes. It's only when his phone buzzes in his pocket, that Enjolras finally breaks out of the study-daze he's fallen into, checking his messages in the process.

From Combeferre:

We're sorry we were loud.

And a few seconds later:

From Courfeyrac the Great and Beautiful:

I'm not.

He rolls his eyes at the messages, before he looks up and sees that Grantaire is still watching him, this time with his eyebrows raised in a question.

"The sexile is over."

"Ah."

"But uh-" Enjolras starts uncertainly, suddenly not quite ready to leave, "I should probably grab lunch before I go…"

Grantaire's face morphs into his usual crooked smile. "You sure you want to risk it? Feuilly's back, so I can't guarantee the same quality of food as this morning…"

Enjolras had never been good at reading people and he was even worse at flirting, but he was almost positive that that's what Grantaire was doing, and he was surprisingly okay with it, so he ducks his head for a moment before he returns the smile.

"I think I'll take the risk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you it was going to be stupidly cheesy so if you've made it this far then i'd like to apologize again
> 
> but i'm about half way through the next chapter and it's going to be a tad more dramatic, and more of Les Amis are going to make appearances, and there is going to be ~political discussions~ which pretty much always end in disagreement for my favourite two dorks, so if you liked this then you've got that to look forward to!
> 
> and as always, comments give me life!

**Author's Note:**

> SO my first attempt at a les mis fic! 
> 
> i can think of about a million other things that could happen in this particular universe, so let me know if you think i should continue!


End file.
